


Shovel Ready

by B_Radley



Series: Song-Books of The War [18]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: A mother’s love, Gen, Humor, no shovels or graves here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 04:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16847269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: Threats or promises?





	Shovel Ready

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



> A prompt by Merfilly. Dani gives the shovel talk.

Lieutenant the Honorable Jon Sienar-Rudor makes his way through the corridors of the newly-established base on Corellia. For only an instant, as the self-awareness level is almost non-existent in the scion of two wealthy families—one whose wealth was made, the other inherited; he wonders what he has done to be summoned to the office of the base commander.

He stops at the door, looks down at his uniform. A night out on the town, even a sewer such as the outer pills of Coronet, had left him none the worse the wear. He remembers the look of disdain that the young woman had given him at his attentions at the start of the night. Jon smiles at the memory of the slight look of amusement; of promise, in her gray eyes as they had kissed goodnight, after watching the fireworks and celebrations. Celebrations brought on by the end of the darkness; the end of Imperial rule. For a moment, the self-regard slips, as he remembers that he had played a part in that ending, in spite of his parents’ standing in the Empire.

As he lifts his hand to knock, he stiffens as a full Captain limps by. His eyes widen at her expression. A slight smirk on her lips under dark eyes that sparkle, in spite of the pain, as she slowly passes him. He tries to remember her name. “Lieutenant,” she says as she acknowledges his salute. He notices that her right hand, the one not frozen against her side, rests near the butt of a very large blaster. As he looks down at it, her fingers begin to drum slowly on the wood.

He shakes the thought of the Captain— _Florlin—that’s her name_ out of his mind.

“Come in,” he hears in a warm alto, before his knuckles even touch the door. For some reason, those two words start blood flowing to parts southward.

Away from his brain and mouth, apparently, as he stands before the desk. His breathing intensifies. A crimson-skinned woman, whose skin and strong body give the impression of being much younger than her eyes do, those dark purple eyes regarding him calmly, sits at the desk. He notices several things about her, in spite of the blood loss to his brain.

She shifts slightly in her chair at the desk. A wince of pain crosses her beautiful features. _Oh, yes_ , one part of his brain thinks, _I notice the beauty_. One other part of his brain manages to chastise the other part, in spite of its loss of reasoning power. _You’re not supposed to notice that about a senior officer_. His eyes fall on the hint of bandages under her slightly unbuttoned shirt.

 _A hero,_ he finishes the thought. He remembers the pain with which Meglann Florlin had moved in the corridor. He sees just a hint of grief, actually feels it disappear, from the Rear-Admiral’s face.

“So, Lieutenant. Heard you had quite the night at the Illumination,” she says.

He tries to find words, fails miserably at her look. He wonders why his trousers are suddenly tight. He steadies himself by looking down at the desk.

He probably shouldn’t have. The Admiral’s hands are busy. He hears a rasping sound; one that hadn’t registered when he had walked in.

The sound of a knife being drawn across a whetstone. He shifts his eyes to the right, attempting to push that sound from his mind. It doesn’t help as his eyes fall on a disassembled Mandalorian blaster resting on a cloth.

He hears a sigh from the knife-sharpener. “My eyes are up here, Mr. Rudor,” she says dryly. Instead of looking in those orbs, he does the raw-cadet thing and locks on a space above her charcoal and blue hair, a flaw in the bulkhead.

“Well?” she asks. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

His eyes widen and look at her incredulously. _Daughter? She wasn’t a Zeltron._

He searches through his memory for any inkling that Lieutenant-Commander Jamelyn Blackthorn was related to a flag-officer. He feels a sheepish reality seeping in. His squadron had not been here for the liberation, but had come with the relief force from Endor. He didn’t know the command structure, only whispers of rumors of disobedience by the Alliance reserve fleet commander.

His heart sinks as he finally remembers the name of that commander.

_Blackthorn._

“We just kissed,” he says, the two words spilling from his mouth. Jon closes his eyes.

He hears something like a chuckle from his right. His eyes widen as he sees an older man seated in a comfortable chair. He holds his breath as he sees the resemblance in the man’s scarred features to the young woman who had danced with him as the night grew into morning.

He tears his eyes back to Jamelyn’s mother. Again, someone more self-aware, as well as someone not scared shitless would notice her lips fighting not to quirk upwards.

“That’s what they all say,” she says. “Might want to know that she has many others interested in her. All very deadly fighters.” She starts to tick off on her fingers. “A commando. The Protector of Lothal. Not to mention so many aunts and uncles that won’t look kindly on someone hurting her.” She smiles almost pleasantly. The expression goes straight to his groin.“We won’t even talk about an entire world who is very interested that their Elector isn’t harmed.”

The look softens. “I have it on good authority, she’s at the medcenter, checking on a friend.” She closes her eyes. “Almost a sister.”

The eyes open; then narrow. “Get out. Remember this little talk, sport.”

He manages to pull his cap on and turn, nodding to Admiral Blackthorn on his way out. As the door closes, he slumps against the wall. The blood gradually returns to his brain. He grins to himself, then moves away. He won’t go to the medcenter, leaving Jamelyn to care for her injured friend.

_But there’s always lunch._

_Later. Much later._

+=+=+=+=+=

Dani Faygan looks over to her left. Jame Blackthorn sets the lightsaber that he had been polishing down, then picks up his caf cup.

“Laid it on kinda thick, didn’t you, dear?” he asks dryly. “I thought he was going to trip over the result of you turning up the resonance.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly subtle with the lightsaber, either, bud,” she says. “Still. He didn’t pee himself. A point in his favor.”

The door snaps open. Her daughter stands there, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing.

“Jon Rudor just passed me. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” Her eyes travel from one ‘adult’ to the other. “What the hell did you do, _Mother_?”

Dani calmly notes the basic word she uses, rather than the Zeltron _abeeyah_. Usually a sign of her anger with her mother.

She smiles at the fire.

 _Didn’t even need the shovel. I think that Sabine and Cubreem might be a bit ahead in this little race_.


End file.
